


You Must Remember This

by erda



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-12
Updated: 2007-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erda/pseuds/erda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a trip through time lands Sheppard in the midst of Rodney's turbulent adolescence, he gets a close look at Rodney's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Must Remember This

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in cesperanza's Victorsverse, and will hardly make any sense if you haven't read "Written by the Victors." Rodney is slightly underage.
> 
> Eternal gratitude to girly_curl_3 for the beta, but all mistakes were inserted later and belong to me.

Earth:

A railroad spike was stuck straight through his skull, and the rust had reached all the way down into his vocal chords so that his voice came out rough and cracking in a groan as he tried out the idea of sitting up. He opened his eyes to see a teenager with long blond hair, high cheekbones and enormous panicky looking blue eyes bent over so close to him he could barely focus. Or perhaps the focusing problem had more to do with the whole railroad spike thing, which he tried to pull out, only his hand couldn't find his head and he listed to the side and vomited noisily onto the ground. Blue eyes drew back and said, "ew", then started ineffectually patting at him with a piece of cloth. When he finally managed to get his hand to his head there wasn't anything much to find except blood. He recognized that old familiar concussed feeling, like his brains had come unmoored in his head.

"You need an ambulance," blue eyes said, and he started to get up from the ground where he was kneeling.

He felt a stab of panic and tried to grab hold of the guy's shirt except the guy wasn't wearing a shirt so he grabbed an arm. "No, no ambulance," he whispered. For some reason he couldn't quite access it seemed important to stay hidden, to fly under the radar. "I'm ok, just give me a second, I'm ok."

Blue eyes went back to wiping him off with the cloth, which turned out to be a t-shirt he was no longer wearing, so the bare chest was actually not some sort of concussion illusion thing. "I think you might have a concussion. I'm just going to go up to the house and call for an ambulance, you need to see a doctor."

He gripped the arm harder. "No! I'm okay, just help me up."

Blue eyes glanced back at a house and looked conflicted. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know, uh," he tried to concentrate but half-formed thoughts were swirling around his head senselessly. "I don't remember," he admitted.

At that the blue eyes lit up gleefully. "Really? You don't remember? Hey, what's your name?" and when he started to shake his head-and stopped so he could concentrate on not throwing up again- "Ha! You don't know who you are? Like, amnesia? That's cool."  
Then the blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you faking?"'

Which would almost have been funny, if it hadn't been so confusing. But blue eyes helped him up and they staggered towards a small house, actually some kind of shop, a beauty shop, but then veered around the back of the building and through a back door, down many, many steps, past a furnace and several boxes and through a doorway. Finally blue eyes lowered him onto a lumpy bed. The bedclothes were twisted up at his feet and he kicked them aside.

"Hey, I think you have a concussion. You better try to stay awake."

He would have rolled his eyes if they didn't ache so. "That's an urban legend," he said. Why did he know all about concussions but not know a single thing about himself? It was a strange feeling. "I'm going to sleep now. We can figure this out later."

Blue eyes poked several fingers into his neck. Smooth blunt fingers, the nails bitten down. "You better stay awake."

He opened his eyes with an effort. "Look, there is no medical reason to stay awake when you have a concussion. That is an urban legend, okay?"

"You said that already."

"Because you didn't get it the first time."

"Hey!" he snapped, turning around to pull a slightly wrinkled but clean t-shirt over his head. He fingered a small hole near the hemline absently. " There's nothing you can say that I wouldn't get."

Which was obnoxious and a little bit insulting, but it made him smile a bit as he dropped his head back onto the surprisingly plush-possibly down filled?-pillow. "Shut up, I'm sleeping now."

"What? I just wonder if you're thinking clearly right now what with having a possible brain injury…" But he was no longer listening.

 

"Hey!" Somebody was shaking him and his head hurt. He opened his eyes and saw, yeah, that same kid. "Hey. Wake up. How many fingers is this?" He shoved the kid's hand away and groaned. "Sorry, but I didn't think you should sleep long. Concussion, you know."

"Jesus, I told you that's a fucking urban legend."

"You remember saying that? Quick. What's your name? I have to call you something."

He gave up on sleeping for the moment and pushed himself upright. "What's your name?"

"Rodney. What should I call you?"

He turned his head from side to side. It was feeling more attached to his neck. "Whatever."

"Well, then," he snapped his fingers. "I know! I'll call you John-John Doe. What do you think?"

"Yes, fine, whatever, can I go back to sleep now?"

"I don't think you should sleep if you have a concussion."

Blue eyes, no, Rodney seemed inappropriately gleeful about the whole concussion thing. "Jesus Christ!" He tried again, "Urban legend."

"What, are you a doctor?"

"Yeah, that's right. Maybe I'm a doctor. I could be a doctor. Like an emergency room doctor. And I'm telling you that there is no medical reason to stay awake when you have a concussion."

"Really?"

"Yes to the concussion information; I don't know about the doctor thing. I seem to know a lot of stuff about injuries." He scooted further up the bed and twisted around. Something was jabbing him in the back. He started to reach around to see what it was, except he suddenly knew what it was, knew exactly, even though he usually kept it in his front pocket. His little 38 snubnose revolver was stuck in the waistband of his jeans. Not the thing for a real gunfight, but useful in an emergency against a single attacker, and of course easy to conceal and carry. The whole medical school theory was looking less likely. He put his hand back down onto the bed with a great show of casualness. Freaking out was not going to help.

"Well, since you're awake now, do you want something to eat?" Rodney passed him a plate and he took it, suddenly realizing he was hungry. Rodney had a plate of his own and fell on it voraciously. Apparently he really, really liked fish sticks and macaroni and cheese.

"You know, you should go through your pockets. See if you have a wallet or anything that would give you a clue."

Which was obvious, so maybe he'd learned something about himself, that is, that he wasn't all that smart. He shoved his hands into his pockets and felt around, but they were completely empty.

Rodney suddenly loomed over him and started tugging on his shirt. "Hey, "he pulled away, "What are you…"

"Looking for identifying marks, you know, birthmarks, scars." He went still. " Looks like something strange on your neck…"

John pulled his shirt back into place, feeling suddenly violated. "Get off me. Where are your parents, anyway?" He pushed Rodney's hands away.

Rodney jerked back into his chair with some emotion John couldn't decipher. He apparently liked to gesture when he talked, and a fishstick made a perfect baton as he twirled it, pointed it and generally conducted the conversation with it. "My mother is in Toronto. I'm Canadian," fishstick pointing to his chest. "My father, I don't exactly know. He took off with his girlfriend."

"Your Dad left? Gee, that's rough."

"Not really. Everyone leaves eventually. It's not like we were having this great relationship anyway, it's just one less hostile." He handed John a can of coke, then took a long, noisy swig from his own. " This is my aunt's house. My mother ships me down to the States whenever I really start bugging her."

 

Rodney kept giving him looks he couldn't decipher. His curiosity was outweighed by the feeling he had that Rodney eventually would tell him everything he was thinking, maybe in more detail than he wanted to hear. "Nice of your aunt to let you stay here," he said cautiously.

"Oh, the parental units pay her well." The fishstick disappeared down his throat, and he bent over his plate to fork up some macaroni.

"Don't you have anyone? I mean, don't you even have a dog or something?"

"Oh, I've got someone." He picked up another fishstick and pointed it at John. "I've got my mentor, Professor Faraday. He just had some stuff to take care of, then he's coming back for me. He's taking me back with him to CalTech. See, I'm a genius. They can't wait to get me out there. Professor Faraday would have taken me along with him but my mother got all crazy and freaked out when she found out I was out at his house for a couple of days. She insisted I come here until classes start. She enrolled me in this program for gifted students, but the other students are a bunch of morons. Professor Faraday left me a bunch of more interesting stuff to work on anyway until he comes back for me. Which will be in exactly two days. So I'll be out of here soon."

Rodney's mouth turned up on one corner in a half smile that didn't reach the rest of his face. John had a sudden desire to reach out and maybe shake him or something, shake that expression off his face. Rodney studied him for a moment, then sighed and turned back to his food. "You're not real, are you?"

John stared at him "What?"

"I never had an imaginary friend before. But it's good, I'm good with it."

"I'm not imaginary!"

"Really?" Rodney sat up and studied him skeptically. His gaze took in all of John, big blue eyes traveling down the length of his body slowly and suggestively. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? Oh, wait, you wouldn't do that, cause part of the attraction is the way you have no idea how gorgeous you are. You have no idea why everyone likes you instantly, which tempers my outrage at the way everyone likes you without your having to do anything at all."

"We just met. How can you possibly know if people like me instantly?"

"My intuition is incontrovertible. Plus I have eyes. I know the type. Are you feeling better? You look like you feel better." Rodney sat up. "Hey, we could go get a movie. You like movies?"

John was fine with that idea. You wake up concussed in a strange place, can't remember who you are, discover you have a handgun stuffed into the back of your pants, which handgun you seem to have an inordinate amount of familiarity with, make nice with a genius who thinks you're not real. Why not watch a movie? It's not like he had other plans.

Walking to the video store John was very aware that he was in an unfamiliar place, and because it didn't seem particularly dangerous, he had to work at staying alert. When Rodney asked what he was looking at, "Nothing," was the truth. There were very few people on the street, a few kids, no one armed or even slightly dangerous. Still he felt more comfortable after surreptitiously slipping the gun into his front pocket where he could reach it more easily.

There were more people in the video store, enough people that it was impossible to consciously inspect them all, so John let his subconscious take over, trusting it to red flag anything or anybody that didn't fit just right. He stayed close to Rodney, making sure no one got between them, scanning the shelves with the smallest part of his attention so that he could give the larger part of his mind free rein to watch for danger. He saw that Rodney had picked a movie, so he took a quick look around and grabbed one himself.

Rodney held up his choice. "How about this?"

"Gandhi?" John rolled his eyes. "Rodney, I think you need to relax more. I've got something fun." He held up his own choice, The Wrath of Khan.

Rodney's lip turned down. "I've seen it."

"So what? I've seen it, too. Like, several times. So I know it's good."

"Yeah? Like where were you when you saw it?"

Which was a nice thought, but as soon as John focused on the memory, it slipped out of sight. Only a vague impression remained, a small room. "I think I was in bed, watching on my laptop."

***  
Atlantis:

John knew better than to touch any Ancient device before Rodney had examined it, so he didn't touch. He didn't intend to think at it either. He just looked at it and wondered what it did, which for some reason activated it. A blue light shot out of the device and swept over him like a huge wave. He crashed into the console, banging his head so hard into some circular thing that emerged from inside the panel that pieces of the device were knocked off and crashed down on top of him.

Rodney was only standing two steps away, but John was unconscious on the floor before he could react. He turned John's face around, then sank back onto his knees with a little puff of surprise at the blood pouring from a large jagged gash in John's forehead, before  
calling for a medical team. By the time the team arrived he was calm and purposeful, insisting they place John on the gurney without even wiping any of the blood off, and then further insisting he be taken to one of the labs rather than the infirmary. Which started a huge argument culminating in Rodney's pulling Teyla aside and whispering frantically to her. Then Teyla also insisted John be taken to the lab.

As soon as they got there, Zelenka took over the task of getting in Rodney's way as Rodney shouted instructions on getting John into the time travel device. "We've got to hurry, that head wound will stop bleeding soon!"

Zelenka threw up his hands in confusion, which allowed Rodney to push past him and open the chamber. "But why, Rodney?"

"Because that's the way it happened. I remember how it happened, and if it doesn't happen that way I don't know what will happen. So make it happen, okay?"

Which apparently made some kind of sense to Zelenka because he stopped arguing and started helping. Once John was inside the device, he went to the controls. "Where are we sending him?"

 

***  
Earth:

"Your what?"

"My…." John thought back to the things he'd seen on Rodney's desk. There was a computer. A….a TI-99 with, what, a voice synthesizer?? He remembered the Texas Instrument home computer, but the memory was distant, whereas his laptop memory was up close and, well… confusing. He shrugged. "I don't know. It's gone. Anyway, how about Star Trek?"

Rodney sighed and put his video back on the shelf. "You know, for an imaginary friend, you're kind of disagreeable. And I don't want to know what that says about my subconscious mind, so, ok, we'll take your movie. Maybe it will help you remember something. I can get Gandhi some other time."

John was still thinking about his laptop. He looked around the video store. At the videos. "Hey, Rodney." He was suddenly overly conscious of his breathing. "What's the date?"

"Sept. 2nd."

"No, I mean, the year?"

Rodney's eyebrows went up. "Oh yeah, the amnesia thing. It's 1983."

Which seemed about right, but wasn't very helpful. Because John really thought it was 2012.

***

Atlantis 2012:

"We need to set the machine for Sept. 2nd, 1983. 2pm." Rodney shouldered Zelenka aside and started tapping in the information.

"Earth?"

"Yes, earth. Massachusetts. Great Barrington, Massachusetts, to be exact. He leaned over, hurriedly emptied John's pockets and removed his thigh holster.

"He has another gun," Zelenka pointed out.

"Yes, I know." Rodney took the smaller gun out of John's front pocket and pulled him roughly forward so he could stick it in the back of his jeans. " Can you set the machine to return him here after nine hours on earth?"

"Yes, yes."

"How long will he be gone to us?"

"About 20 or 25 minutes."

" Good. Do it."

***

Earth 1983:

Rodney wanted to cut across through some trees on the way back to the house, but John nixed the idea, guiding him onto the sidewalk. "Horse chestnut trees," he explained.

"What?" Rodney was bewildered.

"Wouldn't want the genius brain to get clunked with one of those nuts. They hurt."

Rodney didn't seem to know what to make of that. He managed to smirk and roll his eyes at the same time. "Uh, I think it's a little early in the year for them to fall. Why are you so worried about everything anyway? Seriously, you were creeping me out in the video store. Are you a fugitive or something? Is the CIA after you? Anxiety disorder? Persecution complex?"

John wanted to laugh that off, but he couldn't quite. "It's just what I do," he said, though he wasn't sure what he meant.

Rodney's aunt yelled something from the beauty shop when they came in the back door and Rodney shoved John toward the steps as he went in to speak to her. John decided to clean up the room a bit while he waited. He was by nature an orderly person, and Rodney's mess made him feel like the walls of the room were closing in on him. He swept all the half eaten food and crumbs into the trash can, making the mistake of trying to eat some stale Oreos from an open package on the bedside table which tasted like he imagined chocolate porridge would taste. He spit that out into the toilet, then used some damp toilet paper to wipe off the desk. He knew better than to mess with the various pieces of scribbled on paper, but he did gather them all into a tidy pile. Clothing, which was thrown everywhere, went into the hamper, slippers in the closet. He even added the little scrap of paper covered with equations that he found in Rodney's slipper to the pile on the desk.

He thought about trying to sneak upstairs to look for a broom, but settled on using a paper plate to sweep up as much junk as he could. He scooped a pile of dust bunnies, candy wrappers, an empty coke can and a pile of stapled mimeographed booklets out from under the bed. He flipped through the booklets curiously. Saurian Brandy Digest, that seemed kind of cool, Matter Antimatter had a cool drawing of a shuttlecraft on the front cover, something called Another K/S Zine, he wasn't sure what that meant, and, whoa, the cover drawing on the next booklet caused him to shove the whole pile back under the bed. He decided the room was clean enough.

Rodney clattered down the stairs. "Sorry, I had to run to the store for her. Ready to watch?" he shoved the movie into the VCR and plopped himself down on the narrow bed next to John. It seemed awfully generous of the aunt to provide Rodney with his own TV and VCR, especially since hairdressers probably didn't make that much money. But it turned out that Faraday had given Rodney quite a bit of money and he'd bought most of the stuff in the room himself. Faraday seemed to be the only positive force Rodney would admit to having in his life, and John thought it was a little creepy. He kept trying to pull out some admission of family. "What about Christmas?" he asked. "You must have some good memories about Christmas."

Rodney grimaced. "My mother's side is Jewish," he said. "My father's side is some sort of lax Christianity, but whenever they get around my mom's people they get more religious. So, we celebrated Christmas, but my mom was kind of tense about it. Look, stop looking for Norman Rockwell. My family thinks I'm a freak, you know? And they're right, I am a freak. That's just the way it is."

John resisted a sudden urge to touch Rodney by telling himself the kid was probably just a spoiled angsty teenager exaggerating about his lousy home life. He turned back to the movie, but he'd seen it so many times that his mind kept wandering back to everything Rodney had said. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, it wasn't like his own childhood was so perfect.

 

***

People were running and shooting and Rodney kept trying to work even though John was yelling, "Get behind me! Rodney, get behind me." The man wouldn't listen and then something hit the control panel hard, causing it to explode as he leaped across and grabbed Rodney's head, shoving him down where

Rodney was looking at a gold pocketwatch. He picked up one of the tiny tools from the counter and began adjusting something. "You just wanted me to get behind you so you could lean on me better," he said teasingly, which was silly because Rodney was in front of him and he was leaning far over Rodney's shoulder so he could see how he was going to fix the watch except

Rodney was so fucking slow. He started yelling at him to run faster and finally grabbed the back of his vest and started yanking him along. Now, when he didn't want Rodney behind him, the man was lagging and he started yelling at him and

trying to punch him but Rodney was holding his arms down and shushing him.

***

He woke up gasping. Rodney actually was holding him down and shushing him, looming over him and shaking his shoulder. "Wake up," he whispered, "You're having a nightmare. Why is it so important for me to get behind you?"

He twisted away from Rodney's grabby hands, trying to get his bearings, "What?"

"You were yelling that I should get behind you."

"No, no, not you, the other. The other Rodney."

"What other Rodney? You know somebody else named Rodney?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Yes," Because for a moment it seemed as if he did. But then " No. It was just a dream." Impulsively he pulled Rodney down against him, pulling him close. Rodney came beside him with no hesitation, molding his body against John's side. He put his head down on John's shoulder, and John put his hand in the long, blond hair covering the back of Rodney's neck, and without planning to, he put his mouth lightly against the top of Rodney's head, not really a kiss, just a touch. Rodney's hand went suddenly, pushily to John's groin, and John jumped, grabbed the offending hand and moved it firmly away. "Don't do that."

Rodney sat up, arms gone stiff and tense, and glared at him. "Have I pointed out how much you suck at being my imaginary friend?"

Despite the still warm evening, John suddenly felt a cold ache in his joints. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Old enough to know you just kissed my hair." Rodney's chin came up, making him look nervous and defiant at the same time. "Old enough to know I'm gay."

"Yeah? Old enough to have any idea what you're doing?" John sat up, dragging himself to the side to make a space between them, which was more difficult than it should have been. "Have you ever actually done anything with a guy?"

Rodney snorted in a lame attempt to act blasé. "Actually that's the main reason my mom shipped me out. She caught me fooling around with a guy."

"Your mom's not big on the gay thing?"

"Honestly, I don't think she cares so much about that." He pursed his lips in a way that made John move closer to the edge of the narrow bed. " It's just… she doesn't appear able to grasp that I'm gay. She thinks I'm trying to shock her or something, to deliberately annoy her. It was just the last straw in what she felt was a long string of outrageous things I've done."

"Were you trying to annoy her?"

"No!" He sighed and sank back against the wall. "It just seems to come naturally. I annoy everyone. It's a talent I have."

He knew that look on Rodney's face, the look he got when… and memories were suddenly flooding back, of other times he'd watched Rodney fumble around crashing into people without meaning to, that despairing look when he realized he'd fucked up yet again. Because Rodney was bad with people, but he wasn't insensitive. Matter of fact, Rodney was really very tuned in to people, he knew the effect he was having on them, he just couldn't seem to stop himself. Rodney was studying him in that annoyingly knowing way he had.

"You're remembering something," he said and he put his hand back onto John's dick and squeezed.

And, damn, John's traitorous body started responding, which was just, just not going to happen. He tried to push Rodney away but he resisted, pressing against him until John had to shove hard. "I said, stop it!"

"You so want me." Because Rodney always knew what he wanted. He got up, staggering back away from the bed. "Let me try to explain reality in a way you can understand, Rodney. I am 45 years old. I am not having any kind of sexual interaction with you. Because I don't want to and because it would be idiotic. Is that clear enough for you?"

It came out sounding harsher than he'd meant it to, but at least Rodney got the message, got up himself and sat down at his desk. He pulled a book over in front of him and began paging through it with obvious lack of concentration. "Did it ever occur to you I might not need to hear every thought that goes through what passes for your mind?"

Which didn't seem to make any sense, except in the way that Rodney's non sequiturs were part of the order of his everyday life.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"No, no, I know exactly what you mean." Rodney was still feigning interest in his book. "Of course even my imaginary friend wouldn't want to get involved with me. Why should that surprise me?" He added in an undertone.

"Look," John was just making it worse and he knew it. He was developing more appreciation for the way future Rodney always seemed to know what he meant, even when he himself didn't know. This Rodney didn't understand him at all, and he had no fucking idea what to do. "I'm going to take a walk, give you a chance to cool off," and Rodney was dismissing him with a contemptuous little wave.

***

Atlantis 2012:

Rodney seemed more distracted than usual, his drumming fingers a light undertone to Teyla's soft voice laying out the schedule for the day. She finally asked him if something was wrong.

"Uh," and it was a measure of just how distracted he was that he actually stopped drumming and slid his fork down flat onto the table before answering. "Zelenka found something."

Teyla used her interested expression to encourage Rodney, not that he ever needed much of that.

"Remember that puddlejumper that could travel through time?"

Which pulled Ronon's attention away from his pancakes. "You found a puddlejumper?"

"No, it's a portable unit. But it works on the same principle." Rodney cleared his throat. "This could get tricky. The whole time travel thing. I need to have control over this equipment." He glanced at Teyla. "It's complicated, and Radek doesn't want to take my word for it." Teyla passed the look to John.

John shrugged. "What do you need from us?"

"I need you to basically give me say over this."

"Perhaps we should make it necessary for you and John to agree on any use of the device." Teyla suggested.

"Or any two of us," Rodney said to her, "If John isn't available."

John and Teyla agreed. Ronon didn't say anything but he appeared to be signaling his agreement by returning his attention to his pancakes, so it was settled. They were off on another hectic day, and the whole time machine thing receded to the back of John's mind. If Radek had a problem with Rodney having final say over the device, Teyla must have smoothed it over, because he didn't hear anything else about it.

***  
Earth 1983:

He stepped carefully around the many cracks in the sidewalk, scanning the sides of the buildings, a small part of his attention listening to the light shurring noise of the occasional vehicle passing down the damp street. It was full evening now and lights shone in the houses he passed, most allowing a small view of their interior through front windows, a glimpse of a living room, a side table, the flickering blue of a television screen. He noted the yards without conscious effort, some carefully tended, others forgotten or barren in shade, all moribund now with the coming of autumn. People were home and stilling as evening settled into night. He inhaled with silent intensity, drawing on air that was dense with moisture. The sky hung low and oppressive, clouds obscuring the stars he was preternaturally aware of above him. He walked and looked, then walked some more, filled with memories of his own confusing adolescence, his first bumbling and disturbing attempts to connect with others. He thought about Atlantis, thought that Rodney was busy there, sleep deprived and irritable, working on bringing him home.

Eventually he went back to the house, where Rodney was still sitting quietly at his desk. He didn't look up as John slipped into the room to stand silently beside him. The small desk lamp was turned away so that only a sliver of light fell onto the book lying open and unread, leaving the desk and Rodney in shadow.

John pulled the plush bed pillow to the floor and went to his knees, resting his head on Rodney's knee. It was a thin knee, clad in acid washed jeans, but still completely Rodney's knee. He hitched the pillow closer, remembering all the times he'd knelt just like this, and the way Rodney's hand would come gently and surely to the side of his face to guide him. This Rodney was trembling slightly, so young and so unsure, but John felt pulled in by a need to destroy that uncertainty and recover what he'd lost. He rubbed his head tenderly along that knee and Rodney caught his breath suddenly and turned the chair slightly toward him, so that John's face was against his groin. John fumbled open belt and zipper, and Rodney arched back in the chair with a gasp as John pulled his cock free of jeans and underwear. He leaned into Rodney's lap, hands on thighs, and brought all the saliva he could into his mouth as he slid his lips wetly down onto Rodney's cock.

Rodney was moaning and twitching his hips and suddenly his hand came down to touch the side of John's face in that so familiar gesture of affection and trust. Tears sprang into John's eyes and he leaned into Rodney, concentrating on sucking him off to keep the tears from spilling onto his face. Rodney was moaning and already coming. He tried to pull back away from John, gasping and saying, "Sorry, sorry, I…I couldn't…."

John held on, kissed his thighs and stomach and soothed him, "It's ok, I wanted you to…I wanted to take the edge off." He leaned back to sit on the floor and smile into Rodney's face as he said, "You'll be able to last longer when you fuck me."

Rodney jerked his head back and blushed, then practically dragged John onto the bed and started kissing him in his Rodney way, with total attention and concentration and a surprising lack of self-consciousness. Rodney's kissing was all take, he was focused intently on his own sensations. You never had to think about pleasing Rodney because he took what he wanted for himself, which made John feel free to seek his own pleasure in a way he never had with any other partner. He didn't have to worry about what Rodney wanted because Rodney was totally guileless in bed.

Rodney didn't seem to be able to stop talking, but he got more succinct as their clothing came off, starting with actual sentences, "take your shirt off," and proceeding to fragments, "let me… here… I can't… hurry." When they were finally undressed and pressed skin to skin John silenced him for a moment by exploring the inside of his mouth, which was oddly devoid of the taste of coffee.

Rodney leaned back, breaking the kiss, "mmm Oreos," and looked down at him, then traced his thumb along the wraith scar on his chest.

John distracted him before he could ask. "We need some sort of lube."

Rodney reached toward the bedside table. He pulled condoms and lube out of a drawer, explaining sheepishly, "I'm on vacation in a foreign country so I was hoping I'd meet someone who didn't know I'm a jerk, you never know, it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

He couldn't keep from smiling a little at the unremitting TMI. He found it easier to talk to this young, inexperienced McKay in some ways. "Hey, I don't associate with jerks. Does your preparedness mean that you've done this before?"

"Well, no." He ducked his head. "That is, we tried, but it's not that easy to figure out without any help. Uh, we didn't really manage any actual penetration."

"Penetration?" He kindly didn't smile this time though the image of a fumbling, sexually inexperienced McKay filled his chest almost painfully.

"Yeah, whatever," Rodney was finding the bedside table very interesting, but he forgot his embarrassment when John started the kissing back up again. John rolled onto his stomach and Rodney caught on to the whole penetration thing with just a little guidance, his enthusiasm making John's own cock harden.

Rodney started to roll over onto his back, pulling John with him. "Wait," he protested, trying to stop their roll, but Rodney was insistent, pulling him over until Rodney was on his back with John lying on top of him. The angle was awkward, John couldn't move without dislodging Rodney's cock, but Rodney was moving a little, somehow completely in charge, holding onto John, tilting him slightly to the side and stroking slowly into him. He wrapped a hand around John's cock but John pushed it off-it was too much, too fast. Then both of Rodney's hands settled onto John's hips, blunt fingers pressing firmly and John let go of everything, letting Rodney take control. Rodney was bucking into him faster and faster and making a whining noise that John knew well. He closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of Rodney's hands on him, and Rodney's cock in him, the feel of Rodney coming as he rolled them completely onto their sides, pulling John harder against him. He remembered that Rodney really was a genius, and as they grew quiet together he felt suddenly sure that Rodney would soon bring him home.

"Hey, sorry," Rodney said, his voice gone husky with repletion.

"What for?"

"For thinking you were a lousy imaginary friend."

John turned around and buried his grin in Rodney's neck. "Apology accepted." He felt exhausted suddenly, relaxed and sleepy. It was always good to sleep with Rodney.

***

The room was still dark when he was jostled out of a very pleasant dream. "What?"

"You woke me up."

"No, you woke me up."

"You were moving." John became aware that he had been moving, his cock hard against Rodney's backside. Yes, very pleasant dream.

Rodney fumbled at the bedside table, then pressed the lube into his hand. "My turn," he said, rolling onto his back and giving John the little chin tilt.

Which was... he didn't know how to feel about that, if he wanted to... he preferred sexual partners who knew what they were doing. But he was still half in the clutches of his dream and this was Rodney, almost unbearably young and vulnerable. His hands were trembling as he took the lube and coated his cock quickly, then starting working on opening Rodney up, struggling not to rush, reminding himself that this was not the experienced Rodney he knew.

But this Rodney was equally fearless, staring up at him, his cock hard again, further proof of just how young he was. John leaned back on his heels between Rodney's legs. looking down at him spread out and eager. He got distracted thinking about everything Rodney had been telling him- seeing so painfully the span of years of Rodney never getting it right, never getting what he needed, and it was suddenly easy to slow down. He didn't know how long he would be here with this Rodney, probably not long if Faraday was coming for him in just two days. So it was important to make this perfect, to make it last beyond the act itself.

He put his hands on Rodney's chest and stroked down firmly, almost roughly, then leaned forward and latched onto a nipple with his mouth, his hands still stroking along Rodney's sides and hips, trying to give him all the touch he could. He was rewarded by a groan. Rodney's arms came up and one hand went to the back of his neck, the other on his back. He closed his eyes and started making little noises that folded down the distance between this Rodney and the other one.

He moved up and started kissing Rodney just the way he knew he liked it, slow and focused. Rodney's mouth opened under him the way it always did, hungry but still managing to be languorous, needy in a way that made John feel warm with competence. He knew how to fill this need, how to fill Rodney up. Rodney was arching off the bed, rubbing against him, murmuring encouragement, until it was suddenly no longer possible to go so slowly. His cock found its own way to Rodney's tight opening, a push as Rodney pushed back, a look of intense concentration on his face.

He slowed himself again with an effort, pushing in a little at a time, leaning back so he could watch Rodney's pleasure. He was so impossibly young, he didn't know himself at all, didn't know even one of the incredible things he'd done-would do? Had no inkling of the person he was. John wanted to tell him, to make him understand. "Rodney." It came out low and tender. Rodney had been gazing off somewhere in a sensual haze muttering indistinct encouragement. His gaze came back into focus and he looked at John.

But John couldn't think of a single word to say, so he tried to let Rodney see what he saw as he swept his gaze down over Rodney, trusting and so very beautiful beneath him, as he started fucking slowly in and out, and Rodney's supple body stretched to accommodate him. Rodney looked and saw something, some part of what John wanted desperately to show him, something that made his mouth turn up slightly at one corner, and his head drop back onto the pillow, eyes closed, suddenly quiet.

John bent down to kiss that little smile. He realized with a sudden swell of protectiveness how absurd his jealousy of Faraday was, because Rodney was totally his- now, later, always. Rodney was going to need Faraday because it would be a long wait for him until they could be together again.

Rodney reached down unselfconsciously and began to stroke his cock, following John's rhythm. The sight of Rodney touching himself, his matter of fact pleasure seeking made John move faster.

The tightness of Rodney and the tightness in his chest overwhelmed him with sensation and he pressed down with his full weight on Rodney, his hips jerking. Rodney's hands were all over him, and he was whimpering in that way that always made John feel like he was flying. His orgasm slammed through him, and he brought the back of his hand onto Rodney's shoulder and ran his knuckles down his arm to Rodney's rapidly moving hand, covering it lightly with his own hand, and then Rodney was coming, and making a lot of noise about it-so much noise that John started laughing, slamming his hand down over Rodney's mouth to try to cut off all the noise. Rodney went quiet, his eyes big around John's hand, then he started laughing, too. "Don't worry," he whispered when John finally let go of his mouth. "She never comes down here. She totally doesn't want to know what I'm doing."

He was still touching and petting every part of Rodney that he could reach, filled with a sense of time constraint, when they were interrupted by someone shouting something indistinct from upstairs. John jumped guiltily.

The voice came closer, "Meredith," she was yelling.

"What!" Rodney yelled back in his outraged voice, though he was still laughing. He pulled his jeans on and headed for the stairs. John got dressed quickly, his heart pounding with the sudden realization that he was in a stranger's house having sex with a teenage boy. But Rodney came back downstairs so nonchalantly that he was reassured and sank back onto the bed with relief. "She just wants me to run back to the store for some stuff she forgot," he explained, pulling his t-shirt over his head. He leaned over and kissed John hard. "Aren't you going to make some remark about her calling me Meredith?" he asked as he slipped his shoes on.

Rodney trying to act casual never ceased to amuse John, but he kept it out of his face and his voice. "No."

And that hesitant way he had when he felt compelled to stumble into sincerity always warmed John. "I know you're just a figment of my imagination, but thanks."

***

Rodney had only been gone a few minutes when the world began to flicker and fade out, and John knew he was going home. He wasn't surprised to see Atlantis, to see Rodney's worried face bending over him. Only he had a moment of worry about the other Rodney coming back to his room to find John gone, and not understanding what had happened. Then he realized that all that had happened years ago, and Rodney had survived and was ok, more than ok.

Someone was shining a penlight in his eyes and Rodney was asking him if he could remember anything. He smiled. "I remember everything," he said.

The worry lines on Rodney's forehead cleared and he helped John off the platform. "Me too," he said, and he smiled nostalgically, because he didn't have many fond recollections of his youth, but he had a few.


End file.
